Originals

I’m Your Housekeeper and Yes…I Judge You

We’ve only met once and communicate entirely through Venmo and post-its. I’m continuously surprised by your lack of dignity and inability to sweep the floor, but you’re never home…so I tolerate your filth and gladly accept your handsome cash tips.


Are we gonna address the ant situation or just keep ignoring it? I’m fine either way.


When did you start breeding cocker spaniels?


Note: a $20 surcharge has been added to your fee because I had to hand-wash the dishes due to all the dog hair in your dishwasher. How’d that even happen?




I know you only recycle when you have company.


You didn’t put a dog in the dishwasher…did you?


I’m pretty certain someone is living in your attic.


Stop buying plants.


Wait, are you running a hush-hush operation out of the attic? If not, I know a guy who can check it out (you know…for ghosts…he does ants too)


Why am I getting whiffs of ranch dressing every time I walk past your guest room? Not Hidden Valley though…the kind you get at a pizzeria where they mix the ranch powder in giant vats of water.


You can stop with the yoga mat charade.


Oh my god…are you cutting cocaine with ranch dressing powder in the attic? That would explain both the smell and the stomping.


I can’t decide if that splotch on your nightstand is self-tanner or SpaghettiOs sauce. How anyone can create a stain that resists the power of a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser™ is beyond me.


Regarding the nightstand, I’m not touching your vibrators, but someone needs to clean them.


Those checkered Vans are hideous. Either wash em or toss em.. You don’t even skate.


Can you please explain this obsession with Tervis and Yeti?


Dusting between cleanings would really cut back on your seasonal allergies (I saw the Benadryl.) I bet you rub your eyes a lot, don’t you? Stop rubbing them….stop rubbing your eyes!


Mouth Breather.